Watch
by MorallyTwisted
Summary: How Elle Bishop became who she is today... Pre Series


**Title: **_Watch_

**Summary: **How Elle Bishop became who is she today…[Pre-series

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, except my own imagination. _Heroes_ is property of NBC and Tim Kring, as are the characters, while the quote used throughout comes from the brilliance of Frank Outlaw.

**Characters/Pairings: **Elle Bishop, Bob Bishop, mentions of Noah Bennet and Adam Monroe.

**Author's Note: **My first _Heroes_ fanfiction. Reviews are love.

* * *

_I._

* * *

_Watch your thoughts; _

_They become words._

* * *

Although she had barely reached puberty, Elle Bishop had already decided that she wanted to be just like her Dad. She had seen him in action on several occasions, when one of those men kept a few floors down in the cells not unlike her own room lashed out. 

Her daddy was always quick to react; sometimes bringing a protective hand in front of her, pushing her down, sometimes letting her alone to fend for her self, while either reaching for a gun with the other, or latching on to the prisoner's arm and turning it golden.

The man would always scream in pain, stumbling back in shock as they glanced between their now useless limb and her father. Some were foolish enough to try again, but they were quickly subdued by _her_ daddy – either with a bullet to the chest, or the addition of another golden appendage. Mostly, they dropped to the ground, crawling backwards with their faces screwed up in a mixture of what she liked to fancy was shock and pain.

Then her daddy would bend down, whisper something in their ear and she would watch in morbid fascination as the bad man – not her daddy, _never_ her daddy; the bad person was always this other man, no matter how young or innocent looking they were – nodded his head quickly, his face pale.

She had never seen what would happen after that; her father always placed a firm hand on her shoulder – the same one that he had used to make that scum scream and her own heart fill with pride – to lead her away.

She looked forward to these days the most; they were even better than when her Dad would take her to one of the testing rooms and let her unleash her own abilities on inanimate objects, making them fry and letting her thoughts run wild with the screams she imagined she was producing. No, these days – when those people were hurt by her daddy – were the best, because of what happened afterwards.

Daddy would always take the rest of the day off from work and spend a rare afternoon with her. Better yet, they got to go out and away from the building that housed those bad people – that building that also housed her, even though she was far from bad.

Sometimes, they would go to the park, and her Daddy would buy her an ice cream, _any_ flavour she wanted, and they would sit together as he told her that whoever had just been hurt had needed to be. The reasons sometimes varied, but the basic message was the same:

They got hurt because they were bad, and they needed to be punished, like the way he yelled at her when she had tried to run away from the men with the guns that watched her constantly.

Daddy, he'd tell her, got to do it because he worked for The Company, and that's what they did.

Company employee's punished those who deserved it, and helped those who needed it. And The Company could do that to anyone, because of who they were and what they could do.

The first few times that her Daddy had reasoned with this logic, she had questioned him. _Why'd they deserve it, Daddy? What did they do that was so bad, Daddy? Why do you want to hurt people?_

She had quickly learned not to question him again, though. He always responded with a mixture of anger and disappointment, and his tone always made her hurt, inside, because when Daddy was mad or disappointed, Elle always felt guilty. _I gave you my reasons, Elle. I'll not have you question me again, you hear? _

Then, he'd always end with a glare. _Finish your ice cream, Elle. We're going back. _Always 'back', never 'home'.

Hours later, once even a day later, she'd wake up in her bed, tucked in all snug, but with a sore body. She'd barely be able to open her eyes and she could almost smell the electricity in the air. But she'd never question her daddy about what had happened; _never_.

She didn't want to disappoint him. Not again. All she wanted was to make him proud.

So, next time she saw her daddy, she always plastered a big smile on her face and told him that she loved him. And that she was proud of him, for what he had done to the bad people, and sometimes she'd ask, cautiously, what had happened to them, after they were punished.

Her dad would grin, tell her they were 'taken care of' and next time she conned her father into taking her down to the cells with him, there was _always_ someone else – another bad person – locked inside, and there was never any indication that the last person had been there.

Afterwards, in the comfort of her own room, she'd always bring her hand up to her face, letting the electricity build between her fingertips; crackling and glowing bright blue as the ball grew. _One day,_ she'd think with the lopsided grin of a girl who had just lost a tooth and who still loved wearing pigtails; _I'll be just like Daddy._

* * *

_II._

* * *

_Watch your words,_

_They become actions. _

* * *

She was fifteen when her daddy called her in to his office. That simple fact excited her and, unfortunately for the guards that still were assigned to flank her day and night, that made the air around her spark with electric impulses. 

The guard closest to her grunted slightly, his body jerking slightly, even though he did not break his stride. Elle grinned; _got 'im. _

When she got to the door, she breathed in heavily, her eyes tracing over the golden plaque that announced that the office belonged to Bob Bishop. An office that, even as a child, she had never been allowed in.

Elle was about to knock when the guard next to her, the one she had _accidentally _shocked, stole her thunder and beat her to it. She glared at him and made a mental note to punish him later. Not to punish him like her daddy did to the bad people downstairs, even Elle knew that his crime was hardly deserving of that, but still, a few shocks of varying intensity _shouldn't _kill him.

_Come in, Elle, _her daddy's voice came from within.

Unable to keep the grin off her face, she let herself. Her daddy dismissed the guards and motioned for Elle to take a seat across from him. Before Elle could speak, her daddy had already launched into a long speech about how she had grown in the past few years.

_I think you're ready for field training, Elle._

_What was all the other testing, then?_ Elle wanted to ask, but didn't. Don't ask questions; that lesson always stuck in her head. Don't ask questions and don't challenge Daddy's decisions or authority; more importantly, don't disappoint Daddy.

He threw a file onto the desk in front of her and she snatched at it a little too fast. A raised eyebrow and a disapproving smile made her slow down her actions; made her tell herself to calm down, be cool, don't upset Daddy.

She opened the manila folder and was confused by it's lack of contents. Whenever she had visited Daddy before, often because he forgot to visit her for days on end, and he was working over files like these, they were always filled with information. Names, aliases, dates of births, test results, suspected abilities. An entire biography of the person.

In this particular file, however, there was merely a picture of a man. _Who is he?_ She questioned, mimicking the agents in the action movies.

_Doesn't matter, Sweetheart. _Her father peered at her over his glasses and she immediately accepted his answer. _We are going to test your ability on him. _

She nodded, because she was Daddy's little girl and she followed his orders. Even when he led her down the familiar passageways and into a room that looked _exactly_ like her own and told her to do exactly what he said, she didn't question him.

And afterwards, when the doctor that her Daddy had called in when she got too excited and inflicted on him too high a voltage, causing him to flat line, she still remained quiet.

_Next time, perhaps,_ her daddy replied, a reassuring hand on her shoulder, a rare sign of affection. _Don't feel bad; he wasn't a good boy. But you, you were a good girl. I'm proud of you sweetheart. _

Then, he uttered the words that made her eyes light up, _maybe one day, you'll be like me. _

Elle grinned because, one day, she _would_ be just like her daddy.

* * *

_III._

* * *

_Watch your actions,_

_They become habits._

* * *

The silent screams were the best. Those moments when she knew that their pride was the only thing that they had left and they attempted, in vain, to grasp at that last piece of dignity as she shocked them over and over, dancing the dance that her daddy had taught her all those years ago. 

Twisted, contorted faces, writhing as they tried their hardest to not let their pain become vocal. Nothing was more satisfying than that; not even the real, tangible screams. She'd happily give up all those bad people that screamed when she let loose another charge of electricity for the silent joy that filled her when her victims – no, not _victims_; she was punishing bad people, just like Daddy – choose muteness over that last terrified gasp.

Sometimes, her daddy's other employee's stared at her, agape, as she recounted what happened with her latest assignment and how she'd _accidentally_ pushed it a little too far. She'd smile sweetly at her daddy and throw a proud glance at those employees, slightly confused by their shock, before her daddy stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder.

_You did well, Elle._

Those three words – _you did well_ -, and any other variation that her father offered, were all she needed as encouragement. Pleased with herself, mainly because she once again won Daddy's approval, she would turn on her heels, crackle a slight ball of electricity playfully at the other employee and bounce out of the room; just like she did when she was a little girl and her daddy would take her to the park because she had just watched what Daddy could do.

Her room was bigger now, better stocked. The plain metal cot and old sheets were traded in for more expensive furniture. A wooden bed, with a comfortable mattress and a pretty pink cover that she had picked out on another rare trip out of the compound – she still wasn't _completely_ field ready, her daddy told her, but she could take care of those _inside_ the grounds. She even had a dresser and plenty of new clothes.

And every time she did something her daddy liked – killed that man that he had told her too, gotten that information out of that woman, not asked questions about why she still sometimes woke up with no memory of where she had been or how she had gotten here or why she suddenly was branded with small parallel marks on the side of her neck -, the contents of her bedroom grew.

Her daddy had even promised that, one day, she would be able to move out of the compound and, _finally_, live in another house, with him. Only if she'd do this one more thing, punish this one last person.

Killing and harming others soon became normal to her; a habit, almost. Like the way that man Noah Bennet always used to take off his glasses and clean them, even though they were never dirty, or the way her daddy leant forward when he had something really important to say. Her habit wasn't quite like theirs, but she figured it was similar – murder and torture; it was her quirk.

Usually, once or twice a week, when she returned to her quarters, Elle would find a manila folder – not unlike the first folder, first "assignment", she had ever been given – on her dresser. A photograph, the basic details – name, date of birth, known ability, things that mattered most to the person, just in case the physical pain wasn't enough.

When she returned to her bedroom on the night of her twentieth birthday, such a folder was resting on her dresser. Immediately, she picked it up and flicked through it, not even looking up when the deep voice of her daddy spoke up from behind her.

_Adam Monroe. Spontaneous regeneration. _

Elle glanced up, a small glint glittering in her eye. Her daddy didn't have to question the look to know what she was thinking.

_Happy Birthday, Elle. _

She grinned, still the lopsided grin of her thirteen-year-old self; although now, instead of being the smile of pigtails and a lost tooth, it was the smile of the pleasure of pain, and the knowledge that she was helping people, a hero in her daddy's eyes.

_Enjoy yourself. _And with that declaration, her daddy disappeared from her doorway. Like a good girl, a patient girl – because she didn't want her daddy to know she was still the girl that snatched at files in all the excitement of assignments -, she waited and counted. _1, Mississippi, 2, Mississippi. 3, Mississippi, 4, Mississippi, 5…_

That was enough, surely, for her daddy to be gone. Grin still plastered on her face, Elle bounced out of her room and skipped down the familiar hallways that led to the cells – cells _unlike_ her room, now.

As she gazed at her next target, she couldn't help but let her smile widen. Adam, a regenerator; no matter how much voltage she gave him; he could handle it, couldn't he?

_I'm Elle_, she smiled sweetly at him, even though her intentions were anything but. But this was just another habit, like cleaning your glasses too much or taking certain stances when speaking. This one was just more fun.

_Don't worry; I'll take care of you._

And everyday, she mused as the electricity danced between her fingertips, she became that little bit more like Daddy.

* * *

_IV._

* * *

_Watch your habits,_

_They become character. _

* * *

Later on, she had tried to reason that she hadn't _meant_ to kill him; it had just _happened_, one of those things, you know? She'd got angry and couldn't control herself. And besides, after what he had said, that was understandable. He'd been mean and she had always been taught that you punish those that are bad. 

He was bad. He hadn't thought she was listening, but she was. He called her names; _spoilt…murderer…psychotic…Bob's little defect…a time bomb waiting for happen…_

Before he had even hit the ground, dead, she had turned on the woman that he had been talking too. She had been mean too, even though her spiteful words weren't directed at Elle, but rather Daddy.

_After what Bob did to her, I'm not surprised. No one can take that much and still be mentally balanced. _She talked about her just like the shrinks had, telling her that she was a sociopath with paranoid delusions, and she hadn't even threatened this woman yet!

It had taken three guards to pull Elle off this other woman; if insulting her was bad enough, then insulting her daddy was worse. No one ever talked bad about her daddy; he was a hero, the leader of a brilliant company. He saved people. So did she.

Less than ten minutes later, and she was on the receiving end of one of her daddy's lectures.

_He wasn't a bad man, Elle. And the lady, well… _Her daddy sighed, and her heart dropped. _I told you, only punish whom __**I**_ _say. I'm very disappointed in you. _

Elle crinkled her nose; this wasn't supposed to happen. Her daddy wasn't supposed to be angry with her, after all, he never had before. And, as far as she was concerned, he _was_ a bad man; he said mean things about her and that warranted punishment didn't it?

_I need you smarter than this, Elle; you can't kill anyone and everyone. And after Adam…_

She dropped her head. _B-But, Daddy…_

_No buts, Elle. This behaviour must stop. _Her dad sighed again, adjusted his glasses, and shuffled some paper around his desk, as if searching for something. _I think we need to get you out of this environment for a while; let you recuperate, let you grow up. _

He found what he was looking for and held it up for her examination. _I'm sending you on field assignment. _

Elle let her mouth drop; she was twenty-three now and had only been outside the compound with her daddy and an army of guards. _Field assignment? Like alone?_

_Yes, Elle_, her daddy sighed once more, almost as if he were sick of her questions. She immediately fell silent. _Claire Bennet, Noah's daughter. You remember Noah? _

Of course she remembered Noah; she was unlikely to forget him. The way he stared at her sometimes, with what looked like sadness in his eyes. Once, she had thought it was regret, but she'd rarely seen that emotion expressed unless her daddy was upset with her, so she chalked it up to being sadness and just plain creepy.

_Noah adopted Claire on our orders,_ her daddy begun, motioning for her to sit, _to see if she exhibited any ability. Claire isn't aware of this. _

She frowned; _what a bad father…and they call me a sociopath…_

_Yes, Elle; Noah never was a good father. But he adopted Claire as part of his employment and was supposed to report but if there are any signs of her manifesting…_

Her daddy continued, and Elle blocked out his voice. She didn't care about Claire and whether Noah loved her or not; all she cared about was that her daddy loved her, and her daddy would never do anything like that to her. She let the tip of her mouth curve upward slightly, the feeling of being superior washing over her; Daddy and her had a real relationship, Noah and Claire's was merely created for The Company.

Her daddy interrupted her thoughts and she glanced up.

_Don't disappoint me, Elle. _

_Never, Daddy._

After all, complete this assignment without any flaws, and she _was_ her daddy.

* * *

_V.

* * *

_

_Watch your character, _

_It becomes your destiny.

* * *

_

She was twenty-six when she finally found out the extent of what her father had done to her when she was a child of barely seven. Noah Bennet had been right; she'd seen both the photographs and the video footage. All pigtails and unicorns and rainbows.

And, after Bob was finished with her, all sociopath and paranoid and delusional.

And now, eighteen years later, still all sociopath and paranoid and delusional. Still a murderer, still a torturer. Still the messed up little girl that wanted _**so**_badly to please daddy. Still the little girl that got angry and electrocuted others, because they were bad and they opposed her, and that means that they _needed_ to be punished.

After all, murder had been her thoughts, then her words, her actions and her habits.

She was her father's daughter; that fact was undeniable. As true as her existance was the parallels between her and the one man she truly hated with every fibre of her being and yet could not bring herself to kill.

...Yet.

After all, it is _in_ her character; it _is _her destiny.


End file.
